Recurrent insomnia. I’m awake again at 4am, wide awake yet not wanting to be this alert, forcing me to think and process all the dark thoughts going round and round my head. Remembering the shock on my daughter Alethea’s face when she saw me at my most broken. The look of fear on Alaila’s face when she barely recognised her skeletal mother. Children too young to understand, wanting to protect them, not feeling strong enough to give anything back. I am numb. My smiles are forced. I don’t feel like writing or doing yoga. Both are too painful. All around me I see people caught up in meaningless chat on Twitter, posting endless selfies on Facebook and raving about the latest food fad. Once a social media whore, the curiosity for news – good or bad – has simply evaporated. Signing off.